


Cooking for Christmas

by TheNinjaMouse



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Gen, This is set in the OoF timeline but it is NOT canon to the main story, a pure and fluffy piece for the holidays
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-22 18:43:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13172916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheNinjaMouse/pseuds/TheNinjaMouse
Summary: I know it's a few days late but Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays! This is just a pure fluff piece as a Christmas gift for my readers and followers on tumblr. I hope you enjoy!Note: this isn't canon to the OoF story but it's a possible event that could happen at some point :)





	Cooking for Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> I know it's a few days late but Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays! This is just a pure fluff piece as a Christmas gift for my readers and followers on tumblr. I hope you enjoy! 
> 
> Note: this isn't canon to the OoF story but it's a possible event that could happen at some point :)

You’re not entirely sure how it’s possible, but the holidays have somehow made Grillby’s even more of a cozy sanctuary than it already is. Deep green garlands inlaid with soft twinkling lights and red flowers hand on the walls, brightening the normally dim bar slightly. There’s a faint scent of cinnamon mixed in with the smoky smell though you’ve yet to find where Grillby has stashed the cinnamon sticks and a small Christmas (or rather Gyftmas) tree adorned with various decorations sits in the corner next to the jukebox. It had started out simply enough, with just a ring of lights but at Toriel’s suggestion, he set out a tray of art supplies and clear plastic ornaments so children or those young at heart could add to the tree. There’s now not a single free branch and the wild range of colors gives the tree an almost Charlie Brown like charm. Alphys had helped him switch out the usual jukebox jazz for an album of Christmas music and as you enter the bar, sighing with relief at the warmth of the bar after trekking out in the cold you’re greeted with a jazz rendition of Santa Baby quietly playing.

You brush the light dusting of snow from your hair and stamp your feet on the mat. This place has got to be one of the few places in the world where you actually get snow while being so close to the coastline, even if it doesn’t happen often. You’d been delighted to wake up this morning to find that the sparkle of snow was in the air. You hope it’ll stick through the night and give everyone a white Christmas.

The bar is empty at the moment, which given the time would normally be a little unusual. But it’s Christmas Eve and Grillby had decided he wanted to keep the celebration smaller this year. Last year you had heard the monsters had thrown the biggest party that any of them had ever seen and Grillby, as the resident barman and cook, had been in charge of food and drink for the night. He never outright complains to you about it, but you can tell it had been a stressful night for him and he hadn’t exactly been looking forward to repeating the experience. You had teamed up with Sans to convince him that maybe this year, he could keep things small. To your great relief, he had only protested at first and finally relented when Sans pointed out that monsters were pretty much established in their own homes now and wanted to explore what the surface had to offer at this time of year.

So he had agreed to host a small party and closed down his bar a little early to prepare for it. Despite not being on his level when it comes to cooking, you had offered to help prepare the food. Though admittedly, you actually just want to spend some time with him. It’s your first holiday as an official couple after all. You set your hand against the present hidden in your coat, feeling your heart rise into an excited pace. It’s a bow tie, covered in a soft flame patterned print. You had discovered that while Grillby holds a fondness for bow ties, he actually doesn’t have that many that aside from the usual black and sometimes red ones that he wears for work. Gift giving will come later though. For now, you glance around and, not seeing him down here, head over to the stairs that lead to his living space. As you hurry up the stairs, you can smell the enticing scent of something baking and your stomach rumbles. You slow as you reach the top and peek into the open space.

It looks much the same as it always does but you had helped him decorate up here too at the beginning of the month. There’s another tree by the fireplace, a few seasonal appropriate plants and wreaths set up and an absolutely hideous surfing Santa figurine you had bought as a joke a few days ago. You didn’t expect him to actually have it out where everyone could see it.

The fire monster himself is in the kitchen, his back to you. He’s out of his uniform, dressed in a simple maroon colored sweater with the sleeves pushed up and jeans. A grin tugs at your mouth as you creep over to him, waiting for just a moment before pouncing and wrapping him in a hug from behind.

He sparks in surprise and twists slightly, looking down at you over his shoulder. You beam at him. “Hi!”

“Hello,” he returns in his soft, crackling voice, his colors brightening with a smile. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“That’s because I’m sneaky.” You tighten your grip slightly and snuggle against him. His warmth chases away the lingering cold from being outside. He turns so that the two of you are facing each other and gently brushes his hand against your hair, slightly wet with melted snow.

“I assume it’s still snowing out there,” he muses as he dries your damp hair.

You nod. “I really hope it sticks around for tomorrow. The last white Christmas this city had was eight years ago.”

“It was a little strange to celebrate Gyftmas last year with no snow.” He keeps his hand on your head and the two of you simply enjoy the warm embrace for a few moments longer before he gently bops your nose with his finger. “There’s cooking to be done my dear.”  

“Or we could continue hugging and order a last minute pizza,” you say sweetly, keeping your arms firmly around him.

“Tempting but I do believe you said you were going to help me cook, not be a distraction.”

You pout but release him and he laughs quietly at your expression. “Fine, I guess I can hold off on being distracting. What do you need me to do?”

He looks over the various ingredients set out on the wide countertop, thinking. He’s seen you cook before and is probably deciding on what he can trust you not to screw up. “Could you wash the potatoes and peel them?”

You nod, rolling the sleeves of your own Christmas sweater up (It’s got a Christmas tree on it with colorful circles and Chris Pine’s face where the star should be, you’re very proud of it) and grab the potato on top of a stack. The slight glowing quality to them tells you these were grown with magic, as is most of the food that comes directly from Grillby’s garden on the roof. Monsters had to learn how to grow food in the underground, despite sometimes harsh conditions and it was only when a monster handled the sprouts and seeds, embedding them with magic, were they able to grow.

You turn on the faucet and start scrubbing as Grillby pulls a thick book of recipes closer to him and starts flipping to a new page. Some of the pages are handwritten while others look like single pages taken from various cookbooks that have been carefully glued in. Those pages look a little more rumbled and water damaged. You can tell a lot of love has been given to the worn thing.

“That’s the book you used underground right?” you ask curiously.

He nods. “I couldn’t make everything in here underground, with the lack of ingredients but now I can get whatever I need for the pages I found in the dump.” He finds the page he’s looking for and taps it. It’s one of the handwritten ones, probably copied from a cookbook too damaged to use. There’s a few questions marks and crossed out words. He glances at you, flames crackling quietly.

“Have you made crème brulee before?”

“Nope.”

His flames spark with amusement at your drawled answer “I haven’t either.”

“Don’t those take ages to make though?” You remember hearing about that somewhere, probably a random online article. Grillby peers at the recipe.

“There’s enough time if I start now.” He nods a few times to himself and gets started so you turn your attention back to the potatoes. A comfortable silence falls, broken only by the clinking of bowls and utensils and occasional hiss of water as you rinse off the rest of the potatoes and get to peeling them. You go ahead and start mashing them, setting the pot aside when that is done. Grillby quietly directs you on what else needs to be done while he makes quick work of the crème brulees and puts them into the fridge to set and continues with preparing the rest of the meal.

The silence is occasionally broken by small snippets of conversation, mostly started by you while Grillby listens, a peaceful hue to his flames. He does talk a bit about how Gyftmas first started in the underground and compares it to the human holiday. He’s curious about aspects of the holiday that you haven’t really thought about before.

“It started as a religious thing?” he asks, tilting his head slightly.

“Not completely,” you answer as you lightly butter the top of the steaming rolls Grillby set down in front of you. “That’s just how some people view it. A lot of different cultures had different reasons for celebrating this time of year and it all kind of mushed together to form the holiday we have now. Some people still celebrate it for religious reasons. For others it’s just that time of year for gifts and giving and time to spend with friends and family.”  

“And Santa fits into this….?”

He had told you that down below, Santa didn’t really become a part of Gyftmas until books were found in the dump detailing the human tradition and children became so enamored with the idea that Asgore decided to take on the role of the mysterious man in red (only partially due to having the closest look to a fluffy white beard).

You pause in your buttering as Grillby stirs a sugary cream mixture in a silver bowl, awaiting your response. “I think it was because of some guy named Saint Nicholas who used to put treats in kid’s shoes? I forget what culture it’s from. But you know how it is, stories are told, customs get passed on to children who share it with loved ones from other places and before you know it, you’ve got a big mixing bowl of traditions so jumbled together people don’t even know where they came from.”

Grillby hums thoughtfully and while he’s distracted, you stick your finger in the bowl and swipe a bit of the cream. He sparks with indignation as you pop your finger gleefully into your mouth. “That’s for after dinner,” he scolds you, waving the mixing spoon in your direction. He must see the gleam in your eye because he jerks the spoon away just as you leap for it. He sticks it back into the bowl. “Stop that.”

You set down your buttering stick and take a step towards him. “Why?”

He takes a single step back and you follow him. “Because we’re running out of time and there’s more to be done.”

“You’re so right, which means I need some sugar to keep me going.” You can’t stop the mischievous grin spreading over your face as you slowly start chasing him around the kitchen. He’s in no hurry to escape from you but he does lightly move out of your way every time you attempt to grab him.

“You’re going to ruin your dinner,” he says, a hint of crackling laughter coloring his words.

“I’m not a kid.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

You gasp with mock rage. “How dare you! You may be taller than me good sir, but I am no child! Now give me some sugar!” You take a leap and this time he doesn’t move out of your way. You gleefully capture him in a hug, nuzzling your face against the base of his neck. You can feel silent tremors of laughter in his chest and you look up at him triumphantly. He’s holding the bowl up out of the way, his golden eyes squinted with mirth.

“You want some sugar?”

You nod smugly.

He sets the bowl on the counter behind him and takes your chin in his hand. You go still, even as your heart begins to race.

“Just a little then,” he murmurs. He pauses, just as he always does, his golden eyes searching yours for any sign that you don’t want him to do this before he gently presses lips hidden by flame against yours. You sink against him, your eyes fluttering shut as you return his kiss. Your hands go from holding him in place to pulling him closer. Grillby’s other hand drops to your waist, applying gentle pressure as he pulls you up slightly. The smokey smell of him fills your head, wraps around your skin as his hand cups your face, angling your head just slightly. You can feel each beat of your heart sending warmth through your whole body and you deepen the kiss instinctively. He makes a soft noise and even through your closed eyelids, you can tell that his golden color is shifting to embarrassed blues. You smile, slowly opening your eyes as you break the kiss and pull back just slightly.

He’s staring at you and he has indeed taken on a beautiful shade of blue, the heat of his flames rising just slightly. Not enough to be painful but enough that it’s noticeable. His eyes drop to your lips and his flames pick up their pace. “They’re sweet,” he whispers, pressing his thumb gently against your lower lip. “Like sugar.”

You smile bashfully, your own face heating against his intense stare. “Yeah?” Without releasing him, you reach for the bowl and scoop more of the cream onto your finger. Slowly, deliberately, you lick your finger, fighting off embarrassed mortification as his eyes widen and his breath hitches. “Do you want another taste?”

He’s purely blue now but he doesn’t hesitate, pressing his mouth to yours almost desperately and you giggle at his clumsy kiss for a moment before you get pulled back into the warmth of his lips.

It’s a few minutes later, when the timer on the stove dings that you break the kiss, both of you breathing hard and clothing a little more rumpled than they were before. Reluctantly, Grillby releases you but not before placing one more kiss against your forehead. You fix your sweater as he pulls out the crème brulee from the fridge, hoping that you’ll have a chance to make sure that it’s not obvious you were just kissing fire before everyone shows up. You press a finger to your tingling lips, smiling as another warm bloom of affection fills your chest.

“Would you mind finishing the vegetables?” Grillby asks quietly, streaks of blue still occasionally bursting through his flames. You nod and get back to it as he set the pans of brulee out in a row. He makes sure you’re watching before giving you a subtle grin and lifts the first tray up to his mouth. He exhales quietly, a small stream of fire coating the top of the treat. The sweet smell of burnt sugar washes over you, making your stomach rumble all over again. You clap quietly and Grillby bows his head before doing the same to the rest of the crème brulees.

You finish with the veggies and help Grillby set the table. For a guy who said he was going to take it easy, he has really gone all out with the ‘small’ family meal. There’s a huge variety of food, all taken from his cookbook. You glance at the clock; everyone should start arriving in the next fifteen minutes or so. At least you don’t have to worry about food going cold, what with a literal fire monster standing by to heat it up quickly if need be.

You wander into the living room as Grillby does finishing touches and stop in front of the small record player set on a side table next to the bookshelf. You leaf through his selection, though you know them all pretty much by heart at this point and put on a collection of jazz Christmas covers. Have A Holly, Jolly Christmas begins to play, filling the space with gentle music and you sway as you move back, closing your eyes as you let the beat direct your movements. You squeak as you hit something solid and look up to see Grillby standing there looking down at you. Without a word, he holds his hand out and you spin gracefully before taking it. His other hand drops to your waist and his color brightens as he leads you in a small circle around the room. In time with the music, he slowly spins you out and back in, pulling you a little closer than you were before.

“And to think, you used to make such a fuss every time I tried to get you to dance,” you tease.

He simply shrugs. “It’s not so bad when I’m dancing with someone I care about,” he says so genuinely you blush. You put your head against his chest to hide your red cheeks.

Your movements start to slow as the song carries on until you’re simply swaying back and forth. Under his sweater you can feel the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he breathes. It’s a soothing sensation, familiar and warm.

You hear a sudden clash of noise from downstairs, signaling that the first of the guests have arrived. Sans and Papyrus, going by the level of muffled voices. Grillby starts to pull away and you stop him, giving him one more slow and gentle kiss against his cheek.

“Happy Gyftmas,” you whisper.

Grillby returns your kiss with one of his own, the light of his flames casting a golden hue over your face. His hand, still clasped around yours, squeezes gently. “Merry Christmas,” he murmurs.   


End file.
